


save me from the dark

by AlexiaBlackbriar13



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Island, Angst, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Heavy Angst, Married Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak, PLEASE HEED THE WARNING TAGS, Past Miscarriage, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Prevention Hotline, Unplanned Pregnancy, discussion of miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-17 23:30:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13669560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexiaBlackbriar13/pseuds/AlexiaBlackbriar13
Summary: Felicity volunteers at a suicide prevention hotline.One night she gets a call from a particularly distraught man who is on the verge of killing himself, thinking himself a failure & a bad partner.Fifteen minutes into the call, she realises the man is her husband, Oliver.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ... i'm sorry
> 
> ( **Warnings:** this fic contains discussion of suicide, suicidal thoughts and depression)
> 
> beautiful banner made by [@felicityollies](https://twitter.com/felicityollies)

* * *

Felicity had been working as a volunteer answering suicide prevention hotline calls for four years when she received the most traumatic and horrific call of her life.

She’d talked down men from shooting themselves in the head before, managed to convince women who were standing on top of buildings and bridges to seek help - she’d felt out of control and rather helpless during those calls, but this one… this one she knew would haunt her for the rest of her life.

She was sitting in her cubicle at the call center that was located at the back of Starling City’s Veteran Therapy Clinic, sipping her coffee that she desperately needed due to how late it was. Usually on Friday nights they got the most callers, so she had been asked to work up until midnight. Thankfully her husband Oliver didn’t mind… not that he would have even noticed her not being gone. Even on the weekends, his highly demanding job as the CEO of Queen Consolidated meant he was hardly at home. He and Felicity barely spent any time together anymore. Every time she made an effort to reach out to him, he seemed to pull further away from her. Felicity hated to admit it, as it immensely upset her just thinking about it, but she wouldn’t be surprised if divorce papers were in their future.

Her break was just ending when the first call was patched through to her.

Picking up and mentally preparing herself, Felicity answered gently, “Hello?”

There was no response for a couple of seconds. She could hear harsh yet shallow and quick breathing from the other side of the line, and squeezed her eyes shut when she heard the caller release a choked sob.

“Hi,” the person managed. They sounded male, despite the faint voice distortion due to how patchy their lines usually were. She would probably sound funny and distorted to him too.

“Hi,” she said, keeping her voice soft and warm. “How are you today?”

The caller’s voice was shaky but bitter as he replied, “This is a suicide prevention hotline and I’ve called it, how do you think I’m doing?” Felicity winced, but before she would answer, the man continued in an even more upset voice, “I’m sorry… that was rude. I should just… hang up…”

“No,” Felicity answered quickly. Scooting her chair to the other side of her desk, she grabbed her notebook and a pen, ready to take notes. She would never take any very personal information, but if she wanted to keep up with this guy’s story, she would need to remember things - taking notes was the best way to make sure Felicity didn’t miss out on any information. “It’s okay. I’m… guessing you’re feeling pretty awful right now, then.”

“That’s an understatement,” the man said, laughing weakly in such a way that Felicity could tell he was trying to joke about whatever his current situation is.

“Do you want to tell me your name?” she asked, tapping her pen on her pad. “You don’t have to. But it might be better for me to call you by your first name rather than sir or mister.”

“I…”

Sensing his agitation, Felicity followed on, “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I’m here to listen. Tell me whatever you want. You can be as open with me as you please - I’m not here to judge at all, I’m just here to listen.”

“I just... don’t think I can take this anymore.”

Felicity nodded. “You sound tired.”

“I’m not… tired. It’s not physical exhaustion. It’s… I constantly feel like I can’t get out of bed in the morning. I can’t stop crying most days and everything just seems hopeless all the time.”

“It sounds like you are feeling depressed,” she replied carefully. “Have you suffered from depression before?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me about that?”

“... I’m on medication for PTSD.”

She noted that down. “Can you tell me why you have PTSD?”

“... Um… I used to be part of this… army group…”

She raised her head. “Like special forces?” Her husband Oliver had a short military background - they’d met around a year after he’d returned from his tour and started working at his family’s company, which was coincidentally where she worked. Maybe some of her experience hearing his stories out would help her aid this man.

“I…”

Sensing he wasn’t going to give away much more information, she questioned, “And those meds you take for PTSD, they help with the depression?”

“They’re meant to.”

Felicity pinched her brow. “And they’re not? Have you been taking them as your doctor told you to?”

“I’ve never missed a dose since I started taking them but they just… don’t work. They don’t help with anything. I still feel miserable all the time and I still want to die. I’ve gone back to the doctor twice to try and get a higher dosage but I’m on the highest they’re willing to risk at the moment. Nothing’s helping and I… I just don’t want to live anymore...”

Right, this guy was definitely suicidal. Felicity could already tell this might be a long call. She wrote down the current time at the top of the page, deciding to keep an eye on it. “Would you say you’re actively suicidal at the moment?”

“I have a gun sitting in front of me. So yes.”

Oh shit. Felicity stood up rapidly, searching around for any of her co-workers who could perhaps support her. If this man was seriously considering ending his life, they might need to trace the call and contact the police. “Okay. Look, I’m genuinely concerned about your well-being. I want to make sure that you have a way to stay safe right now. Who can you call right now who can come over and stay with you?”

He released a sob. “Nobody.”

“Is there really nobody, or do you just feel like there’s nobody?” she questioned cautiously.

“There’s… my wife.”

“Your wife?” she repeated. “Good. Okay. Can you call and ask her to come and stay with you?”

“No… she’s… at her job right now.”

“So you’re alone?”

“Yes.”

“Did you plan to be alone so you could try and kill yourself?” she pressed.

“... yes.”

This man needed immediate treatment. “Do you think you could call 911 for me? I’m very worried about you right now and I think maybe a medical professional would be able to help you with your current situation.”

“I don’t want help. I don’t deserve help.”

Felicity rubbed her hand over her face, the stress beginning to set in. Her fingers were twitchy as began scribbling notes about the man’s wife and plan to kill himself. “Will you stay on the phone with me?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes. I want you to do something for me, okay? I want you to move from wherever you are right now to a different room, somewhere where you can’t see or reach for your gun. Is that okay? Can you do that for me?”

“... yes.” There was a pause and she could hear him shuffling and moving. After a few minutes, Felicity heard the sound of a door closing. “I’m in my bedroom. I… left the gun in the living room.”

She breathed out in relief. So the danger was less immediate than before, but still present. “Could you help me better understand what is making you feel like you need to end your life? Why you feel like you don’t deserve to be helped?”

“I’m just… an awful human being.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“No, it is.”

“Don’t you think your wife would disagree?”

A beat of silence and then he whispered, defeated, “I don’t know anymore.”

Felicity circled the word ‘wife’ she’d written in capitals on her page. She would need to get back to that. It sounded like this man’s wife was the only support system he had available to him but she hadn’t been helping him process his self-destructive emotions lately. His poor wife most likely had no idea he was suicidal. “Why do you think you’re an awful human being?”

“Do you want the comprehensive list?” he replied tiredly. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because I don’t think you’re an awful person, but I’d like to know why you think that.”

“I fuck up everything.”

“Everything?”

“My job… my relationship…”

“Where do you work?”

“Queen Consolidated.”

Felicity froze. Okay. She could deal with this. The fact that this man was potentially one of her daily co-workers was alarming. Her paid day job was in the IT department at QC. But she could stay calm, keep talking. She needed to keep him talking so he wouldn’t go back to his gun. “You feel like you’re not the best at your job.”

“I’m shit at my job.”

“That’s a little extreme.”

“Not a lie though.”

“Which department do you work in?”

He didn’t respond.

Felicity tried a different tactic. “Do you get a lot of pressure placed on you because of your position?”

“So much so that I feel like I’m being crushed most of the time,” he whispered, a tremor in his voice. “Nobody realizes… they’ve never realized. I’m struggling so much and nobody _cares_. They want me to do well and keep going and help raise profits but I’m… _drowning_ under their expectations. My parents - my family - they don’t understand, they can’t, but they never even make an effort to - and my wife -” He cut himself off, choking on his breaths.

“Breathe,” she instructed gently. “Don’t wear yourself out. Take deep breaths. If you’re not sitting down, try and do so. We’ll work through this.” Checking she had all the information down in her notebook, she prompted, “You mentioned before you feel like your relationship with your wife isn’t going well.”

“More like it’s crashing and burning,” he replied. “And it’s my fault.”

“Relationships fail because there are faults on both sides,” Felicity told him.

“She’s practically perfect in every way, none of this is her fault.”

“Why do you think you’re at fault?”

“I never have any time for her anymore because of my job. I… I hardly get to see her and whenever I do see her, we always fight over how little time we spend together.”

Oh god, that sounded just like her and Oliver’s situation. Maybe this call was hitting a little too close to home. “Have you told her about the pressures of your job?”

“No.” Very short and clipped answer.

“Have you tried to?” she asked gently.

“She wouldn’t understand.”

Felicity bit back her response of ‘maybe she’ll understand if you try to talk to her’ because right now, she was meant to ask questions and listen to his answers without any sort of judgment. “Does your wife know about how you’ve been feeling emotionally? Does she know that you’ve been having these dark thoughts?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Have you considered talking to her about it?”

Silence. The man didn’t reply. Terror jolted through Felicity for a brief second as she wondered whether or not he’d hung up, but after listening closely, she was relieved to hear his quiet breathing, although it sounded distressed and uneven. So he probably had thought about explaining things to his wife, but most likely was too scared or ashamed to confess what he’d been feeling lately. Running a hand through her blonde hair, Felicity snatched up her pen and circled ‘wife’ again violently.

“Don’t you think she should know her husband is thinking about killing himself?”

“I don’t know,” the man mumbled.

“Why don’t you know?”

“Because I think if she knew how messed up I am, she would leave me.”

Felicity bit her lip, swallowing heavily. “You don’t know that she would,” she offered.

“She’s a million times better a person than I could ever be. I don’t deserve her and I never have. She deserves a much better partner who can appreciate, love her and spend much more time with her than I can.”

“But you love her.”

He sobbed.

Maybe she was starting to get through to him. “You love her, don’t you?”

“With every single fiber of my being.”

“Think about your wife,” she insisted. “Think about how she would feel if she realized you’ve been feeling this way, thinking about killing yourself. Think about how absolutely devastated she would be if she came home tonight and found your body if you shot yourself.”

“I wouldn’t shoot myself at home,” he muttered. “I’m not that stupid. I wouldn’t do that to Felicity.”

_I wouldn’t do that to Felicity._

_**I wouldn’t do that to Felicity.** _

High-pressure job at Queen Consolidated. Military history to do with special forces. Failing relationship due to lack of time spent together and a weakening emotional connection.

The entire world had just been yanked from underneath Felicity’s feet and she felt like she was _suffocating_. She could barely breathe. This couldn’t be happening. _This couldn’t be happening._ This wasn’t real, this couldn’t be -

Raising a trembling hand to her mouth, Felicity’s voice shook in fear as she questioned, “Oliver?”

Horrified silence.

And then -

“No… no, no _no no **no NO.**_ ”

“Oliver?” she repeated, heaving herself out of her chair to try and stand but her legs gave out from beneath her. “Oliver?”

“ _Felicity?”_

“Oh my god,” she moaned, collapsing onto her knees.

Her husband.

Her husband was calling a suicide prevention hotline.

_Her husband was sitting at home in their bedroom and there was currently a loaded gun ready on the table in the living room so he could kill himself._

“Felicity… I’m -! No, I - I can’t -”

Desperation swamping all her thought processes, Felicity scrambled for her personal cell phone, trying to open it so she could call 911. “Oliver, please, don’t hang -!”

Dial tone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry
> 
> **Warnings** : This chapter contains suicidal thoughts, suicidal ideation and attempted suicide. When I say do not read this if you are triggered by any of these themes... I'm serious. This chapter does not play around.

Blood.

There was blood on the floor of their living room.

Felicity wanted to both burst into tears and throw up at the same time.

She’d dissolved into a quivering wreck the moment her husband had hung up on her. Her heaving sobs of shock and despair (because it was _Oliver_. Her _husband_ had called a suicide hotline. _Her husband was suicidal and she’d had no idea_ ) must have been loud enough to carry over into the next couple of cubicles, as Lyla, one of her co-workers, had rushed over to her, asking her what was wrong. Felicity only had to sob her husband’s name before Lyla seemed to realize what had happened. The woman had run off to the manager’s office and returned a minute later, a determined look on her face as she swiped her car keys from her desk.

They’d driven in silence apart from Felicity’s crying. Lyla used the hands-free phone system in her SUV to call the police and explain roughly what had happened. Felicity was too zoned out to really pay attention to the conversation.

She still couldn’t believe this was all real, and actually happening to her.

_Her husband._

Two police officers by the name of Diggle and Drake had been waiting on the street in front of the apartment building where Oliver and Felicity’s home was located. There was an ambulance parked up next to their police cars, the paramedics geared up and waiting with the officers. Diggle had insisted that Felicity allow him and Drake to enter the apartment first. If Oliver was armed and in emotional distress, he could present a danger not just to himself, but to all of them as well.

The apartment was empty.

Oliver was nowhere to be found.

Neither was the gun.

But there was a small pool of blood on the wooden floor, seeping into the cracks.

Lyla and Officer Drake helped Felicity sit down on the couch. She knew the blood was Oliver’s. There was no question about it. He’d hurt himself. He’d panicked and in a state of sorrow, he’d hurt himself and fled. He’d run away from Felicity. And the worst part about it was that he’d done so deliberately, knowingly.

His words from the call echoed in Felicity’s mind, cutting like razors.

_I don’t want help. I don’t deserve help._

But then also:

_**I wouldn’t do that to Felicity.** _

Oliver wasn’t beyond help. If she could find him, get through to him - _talk_ to him, maybe they could sort this out. Maybe he would let her support him. Felicity couldn’t help but feel this was her fault. She should have noticed that her husband was sinking into depression earlier. She should have seen the warnings signs - she knew every single one of them, for god’s sake, she worked on a suicide prevention hotline.

Lost in her own thoughts, Felicity barely heard Lyla ask Officer Drake in a low voice, “Where did the blood come from?”

“None of the kitchen knives were touched… we suspect Mr Queen owned a switchblade or personal combat knife of some kind that he…”

“Cut himself with,” Felicity finished for her flatly.

She tried not to flinch when she felt the officer set a supportive hand on her back. “Do you know anywhere he might go?” Drake asked her, her voice gentle and friendly as if she expected Felicity to shatter any second now.

“... no,” she rasped in response. She didn’t. He wouldn’t go to his office at QC, that place was hell for him. He wouldn’t go to his parents’ house in case he accidentally bumped into them. Their apartment was his only safe haven, and Oliver had run away from it. “I don’t know.”

Diggle emerged from their bedroom. He held up a smashed smartphone. “He didn’t want to be followed,” he said. “Mrs Queen -”

“Mrs Smoak,” she corrected.

“I’m sorry?”

“I… I didn’t take his last name.” Everything was cold and she clutched her trembling arms to her chest, trying to settle her stuttered breathing. “It’s Mrs Smoak.”

“Mrs Smoak… if it’s alright with you, I’d like to pass on a photo of your husband to rest the police department so they can keep an eye out for him. I’ll also have to release a public notice asking civilians to notify us of his location if they see him, and to keep their distance from him. I know it’s horrible to think it, but Mr Queen is not in his right mind and could accidentally hurt somebody with the weapon he’s carrying.”

“He won’t,” she said quietly. “He wouldn’t do that. Even ‘not in his right mind’... Oliver would never hurt someone.”

“Unfortunately, we don’t know that for sure, Mrs Smoak, which is why we need to take precautions. If another one of the officers finds him, they’ll try and bring him into custody as quietly as possible so we can get him somewhere safe, to receive the medical attention he needs.”

Felicity shook her head. “You won’t find him.”

“Why do you think that?” Drake asked, brow furrowing in confusion.

“Oliver’s ex-special forces,” she mumbled, lacing her fidgeting fingers together on her lap. “He’s trained in escape and evasion. If he doesn’t want to be found… you won’t find him.”

The two police officers exchanged glances. Diggle gave her a cell number to call if she came into contact with Oliver, telling her it would be better to have somebody with her if she tried to talk to him just in case things got out of hand. There was nothing left for the police to do - Oliver was gone and there was no way of tracking him except through CCTV footage, which considering it was a Friday night, could take a couple of days to collect. One of the paramedics took pity on her and helped clean up the puddle of blood before they left. But even once it was gone, Felicity couldn’t stand to be in the living room. The stench of hydrogen peroxide was too overpowering, and to know that her husband had probably been sitting on that couch barely an hour ago, a gun in front of him as he prepared to take his own life… it was too much.

“You should sit down,” Lyla suggested, flicking on the light switch as she followed Felicity into the bedroom.

It looked untouched, but since Felicity knew that Oliver had been in here while on the hotline call to her, it caused her stomach to twist.

“How did I not know?” she whispered to herself. She dropped her head in her hands and she slid down the bedroom wall. “He’s on PTSD medication… he’s _depressed_. He hates his job - he’s told me so _numerous_ times. ”

“You didn’t know about the medication or the depression until the call, Felicity,” Lyla reminded her gently.

“But I knew he was struggling at work. I knew he was under a lot of pressure - that he couldn’t come home often because he had to deal with all these things as CEO. His mood has been low lately… How did I not see any of the warning signs?

“Felicity… you probably did,” Lyla told her, voice soft. She sat down on the floor beside her, slipping her hand into Felicity’s and squeezing it to offer some comfort. “But you didn’t _want_ to notice them - he’s your _husband_ , of course you want him to be mentally healthy - so your mind subconsciously suppressed it. It wouldn’t be a leap to guess that Oliver was trying to hide it from you as well.”

“Yeah, because he thought if I knew he was having mental issues, I would leave him.” She desperately tried to stop herself from crying, but couldn’t hold back the emotions anymore. “He thinks that I think he’s an awful human being, Lyla. What kind of wife lets her husband think that?”

Sighing, Lyla pulled her into a side hug, allowing Felicity to bury her head into her neck and sob into her shoulder. “You and Oliver have been having a rough time recently. You’ve lost that emotional connection between you… things have become frigid… all of that paired with his depression has tanked his own self-esteem. Even if your relationship was in the best state possible, he would still probably think everybody hates him. You can’t blame yourself, Felicity. You _can’t_.”

“I just feel _so guilty_.” Wiping her nose and eyes on her sleeve to dry her face, Felicity sniffed and shuffled away from Lyla. Hugging her knees to her chest, she whispered, “I think you should go.”

“I don’t think you should be alone right now, Felicity.”

“I’m not going to do something stupid,” she murmured, propping her chin on top of her arm. She was beginning to feel physical exhaustion dragging her down, the mental stress she was experiencing just completely tiring her out. “I’m not going to go out looking for him, Lyla, I promise. I just… I need some space to process all of this.”

The other woman scrutinized her carefully, examining Felicity’s current position and expression. After a moment, she nodded, standing. “Okay. If you’re sure. You have my number if you want to talk, and Felicity… I don’t think you should take any hotline calls for the next week or so.”

Felicity grimaced into her knees. “I’m not arguing with you on that one.”

“And if Oliver calls you or comes home, you _call the police._ ”

“So they can arrest him and take him away?”

“Felicity, he’s not mentally stable right now,” Lyla informed her seriously.

“He’s my husband. He _loves me_. He would never hurt me.”

“He might not want to, but he might not be able to stop himself.”

Glancing away in frustration and glaring at a single point on the wall, Felicity begrudgingly conceded, “Fine, I’ll call the police if I come into contact with him.”

Lyla leaned down to drop a kiss on the crown of her head. “Thank you. Try and get some sleep, okay?”

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep for a couple of months after everything that’s happened tonight.”

Lyla left. Felicity didn’t know precisely how long she remained sitting against the wall, but when she finally gathered the energy to crawl to her feet and stumble over to the bed, it was nearing two in the morning. It took at least ten minutes for Felicity to change into pyjamas, her movements slow and lethargic. If anything, she was trying to stall getting into bed for as long as possible… Oliver rarely slept next to her nowadays due to his habit of pulling all-nighters at the office, but after learning everything he’d been going through lately - hearing how much he was _suffering_ \- it felt wrong to be climbing into bed without him.

She couldn’t sleep on her side of the bed. It felt empty and lonely and cold. After five minutes of feeling uncomfortable, Felicity shifted so she was lying on her husband’s side. She face-planted into his pillow, inhaling the earthy, woody scent of it that was Oliver’s natural aroma. Her hands balled into fists around the blankets and she curled up, feeling how the mattress was molded to her husband’s form beneath her.

And she cried.

Felicity wanted nothing more than to hear Oliver’s gentle, quiet breathing beside her. Reassuring her that he was there. That was he was alive. But there was nothing. Just silence.

Whimpering, she realized that she didn’t even know if he was still alive. Oliver could have hung up on her and fled the apartment before hiding in some dark alleyway somewhere and shooting himself in the head. He could be dead for all Felicity knew. She might never hear his soft breathing next to her again.

She must have cried herself to sleep, because the next thing she knew, Felicity was being jolted awake with a silent, startled scream as a mighty crash sounded from the living room. Frozen in fear, she listened for a moment. Her heart was pounding so fast in her chest it almost pained her. After a couple of minutes of just occasional quiet noises of shifting around, Felicity lunged for her phone on the nightstand. Placing it on silent, she texted the number that Diggle gave her that somebody had broken into the apartment.

Slipping out of bed as silently as possible, Felicity tucked her cell phone into her pyjama pants’ pocket and grabbed the baseball bat she kept propped up against the closet. Padding cautiously towards the bedroom door, she slunk through it and headed towards the living room. She was virtually certain this wasn’t an ordinary intruder. In fact, she was almost ninety percent sure that this was Oliver.

She reached the threshold of the living room.

All of the oxygen rushed out of her lungs at once, leaving her weak on her legs. Grabbing the door frame for support, she choked out, “ _Oliver…_ ”, staggering towards him.

Her husband was seated on the couch, the gun resting on the cushions next to him. His calloused hands were holding a photo frame and his bloodshot, exhausted gaze seemed fixed on it. Felicity caught sight of the frame and recognized it instantly. It was one of the pictures from their wedding; their favorite photo that was taken that day, of both of them dancing together, smiling brightly at each other with such love in their eyes that it always caused Felicity’s heart to hurt every time she looked at it.

He stood hastily as she approached him, holding his hand out.

“No,” he croaked. “Stay there. Don’t… don’t come any closer.”

“Oliver, _please_ ,” she sobbed. She just wanted to hold him in her arms. Wanted to kiss him, reassure him that she didn’t hate him, that she could _never_ hate him, and that she wasn’t leaving. That they could get through this together, that she could _help_ him.

“I said _NO!_ ” he shouted.

She stopped in her tracks, eyes wide when she saw him turn back and swipe up his gun. “Okay,” she replied hurriedly. Taking a couple of steps back, she raised her hands into the surrender position. “Okay, I won’t - I won’t come any closer. Just - put the gun down, Oliver. Please.”

He was crying. Felicity had never seen her husband look so broken before. His hair was tousled roughly from where he’d undoubtedly been yanking at it. Although his muscles were tensed, as if he was anticipating a fight, he held his body with a ragged weariness you would usually see in soldiers after returning from battle. His t-shirt was torn in places, practically in tatters, and… there was a massive dark stain over his left shoulder. A hole. A giant, bloody hole in his own shoulder that Felicity knew had been self-inflicted, because she could see that the fingers of the hand loosely holding the gun were caked with dried blood. What had he done to himself?

“I’m - I’m sorry, Felicity,” Oliver whispered, voice cracking on her name. “I never asked you what your night job was… maybe if I had we wouldn’t be in this mess right now. Maybe I would already be dead and you would already be free of me. I should never have called that hotline… I was a coward.”

“No, you’re the bravest man I know,” she replied, managing to keep her voice strong despite how much she was shaking. She was terrified. Truly and utterly terrified, but she couldn’t let Oliver see that. “You reached out for help when you were at your lowest. So _let me help you_ , Oliver.” She held out her hand. “Give me the gun.”

“I can’t,” he responded.

“ _Please_ give me the gun.”

“I can’t. I need it.”

“No, you don’t,” she shook her head frantically. “You don’t because you’re not going to kill yourself, Oliver. You’re _not_.”

“This is my only option.”

“It may seem like that because you’re very depressed and upset right now, but I swear Oliver, this is _not_ your only option. This is not your only choice, okay? There are hundreds - _thousands_ more choices that are a million times better than this one, where you for some bizarre reason think you need to end your life.”

He stared at her piercingly. And slowly, he stepped forward, placed the gun down on the coffee table, and stepped back.

She sobbed in relief. “Thank you.”

He looked agonized. “I’m sorry. You were never meant to know…”

“Why do you want to kill yourself?” she whispered, tears spilling down onto her cheeks.

He gazed at her with empty eyes, the sheer fatigue and dejection there making her breath stutter. “You told me to be happy.”

Felicity froze in shock, dizziness hitting her as horror crashed into her like a tidal wave.

Their fight.

Their fight a couple of nights ago.

_“You never spend ANY time with me! The only thing you want to do is sit at your stupid CEO desk all day and all night and make profits!”_

_“I only want to make you happy!” he yelled._

_“No you don’t!” she screamed back at him. “All you care about is yourself and your success! You don’t care about my happiness, you only care about your own! So GO ON, OLIVER! YOU DO WHATEVER IT TAKES FOR YOU TO BE HAPPY. I’m not going to sit around waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass and realize that your WIFE might be more important to you than your job!”_

_“But you ARE MORE IMPORTANT TO ME THAN MY JOB.”_

_“Don’t just tell me that, FUCKING PROVE IT TO ME BY SHOWING ME.”_

_“I…” he deflated, anger flooding out of his tensed body. “I… I don’t know how.”_

_“Typical,” she spat back at him._

_She stormed into their bedroom and slammed the door behind her, locking it._

_He could sleep on the couch for all she cared._

“Killing yourself will make you happy?!” Felicity cried out. “Oliver, you’ll be _dead_. You can’t be happy if you’re dead! You can’t be _anything_ if you’re dead!”

“I know,” he said, looking utterly hopeless. “I know. But I’d rather be dead and be nothing than be alive and feel like this all the time.”

“You don’t have to feel like this all the time,” she insisted. “Oliver, we can get you better medication to help with the PTSD and depression. We can get you a therapist. We can ask for medical leave from Queen Consolidated until you’re back on your feet.”

“That’s just a temporary fix though, isn’t it?” he sighed, looking down at his hands. Felicity twitched as he began picking his own dried blood off his fingers. “That’s just drawing out my suffering. I’ll end up in this exact same position in the future, Felicity. Why waste time and spend more time feeling like utter shit when I can end my life now? What would be the point in staying alive?”

“Because I _want you to_ , Oliver! I’m your _wife_ , and I _love_ you!” she yelled, sobbing so much now that she could barely get her words out. Tears were streaming down her face and her entire body _ached_. “Even if you think that I don’t - even if we’ve been fighting recently and I hate you, which is _not_ true… I don’t want you to die! I want you to live and I want you to stay with me! If you kill yourself, I - I won’t survive that, Oliver.” Falling to her knees, she wrapped her arms around herself tightly and admitted, “I’d rather kill myself too than live without you.”

To say that Oliver looked surprised by her confession was a gross understatement. An expression of astonishment and absolute dismay replaced his one of dark determination.

“ _Felicity_ ,” he whispered, obviously spooked.

Police sirens wailed outside. Felicity went still, eyes as round as plates as she watched her husband’s head snap around. He sprinted towards the window and stood there for a moment, peering down at the street.

“You called the police?” he asked, voice so lethally quiet that it made Felicity nervous.

“Yes.”

“Why?” he breathed, glancing over at her. He looked so betrayed, and she noticed that while he’d been more relaxed before, he was wracked with tension now, as taut as a wire.

“They asked me to,” she said, voice shaking. “Oliver, they… they were worried that you might hurt somebody. You need help. Please let them help you.”

He shook his head, appearing pained. When he took a step towards her, Felicity quickly stood up and backed away from him, gripping her baseball bat tightly.

He paused in place. “You’re scared of me.”

“Oliver…”

“You’re scared of me,” he repeated. Oh god, he looked devastated. “My own wife is terrified of me.”

“Terrified _for_ you,” she corrected. “Please, Oliver, just… go quietly. Let them take you to hospital. Your shoulder needs medical treatment… there will be doctors who can help you there.”

He whined, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes. “I shouldn’t have come back here.” Felicity could only watch in utter panic as her husband lunged forwards, scooping up his gun from the table. “I’m _sorry_.”

“Oliver, don’t!” she pleaded. “Put it down! If they think you’re armed they could shoot you!”

“Good,” he said.

He raised the gun to his head.

Felicity was too afraid to move. Petrified that if she tried to inch towards him, he would pull the trigger.

“You don’t want to do this,” she said slowly, although her voice tremored. “Oliver, please, don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t want you to see… I didn’t want you to be here…”

“You wouldn’t,” she continued desperately. “You _wouldn’t_. You wouldn’t kill yourself in front of me, Oliver. You won’t do that to me. I’m your wife, and I _love_ you, you _won’t_ make me watch you kill yourself.”

“ _Felicity,_ ” he moaned.

“Oliver, _PUT IT DOWN._ ”

“I _can’t._ ”

“If you kill yourself right now, I will pick up the gun and shoot myself too!” she shouted. “Is that what you want?”

“All I want is for you to be happy. You’ll be happier without me.”

“I won’t. Oliver, trust me when I say this, _I WILL NOT BE HAPPIER_. I’ll be the saddest I’ve ever been and will ever be in my entire life. So _PUT. THE GUN. DOWN.”_

He kept the muzzle pressed to his side of his head. He was freely crying now as he murmured, “I’m sorry, Felicity.”

The front door of the apartment exploded, Officer Diggle and Officer Drake appearing from the dust with their guns aimed. “FREEZE!”

“ _ **DON’T!**_ ” Felicity screamed.

Oliver pulled the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...
> 
> Tumblr: @alexiablackbriar13  
> Twitter: @lexiblackbriar
> 
> (you can take comfort in the fact that the tags very clearly say ATTEMPTED suicide and not just suicide)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter ya'll. this one is... actually okay?
> 
> thank you for all your support and patience as i've written this fic
> 
> thanks to bev for making the awesome banner xxx
> 
>  
> 
> **please heed the trigger warnings in the tags! new ones have been added specifically for this chapter**

_One year later_

The apartment was pitch black when Felicity arrived home from work.

She surveyed the dark environment with a heavy sigh, keys dangling from one of her hands while she raised the other to rub her brow tiredly.

Of course no lights would be on.

What else had she been expecting?

Dropping her bag onto the floor, Felicity fumbled for the light switch as she asked, “Didn’t we talk about sitting in the dark?”

She hit the switch and brightness flooded the room.

Oliver flinched from where he was seated in the corner on the floor, covering his eyes as he winced. He was in his usual position with his legs outstretched and a blanket covering them, and he had his notebook and pen resting on his lap.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, gazing up at her with a genuinely apologetic expression. “I should have got up and turned the lights on.”

“It’s okay,” she replied. “Just remember for next time, alright? Please? For me?”

He nodded. “For you,” he agreed quietly, glancing back down at his notebook.

Felicity observed him worriedly for a moment, but quickly shook herself. She’d promised she wouldn’t be pushy or ask too many questions about her husband’s current emotional state, as they now knew from experience that just caused Oliver to clam up even more. So she would give him his space. Although later on, she might not be able to, considering what day it was, and what she had to tell him.

Precisely a year had passed since Oliver had attempted suicide by shooting himself in this exact living room. The only reason her husband was alive today was due to her and Officer Diggle’s rapid reaction times, jumping forwards and grabbing Oliver’s arm so that he was aiming the gun at the ceiling rather than his head. The shot had been fired, but her husband hadn’t been hit. Felicity still suffered from frequent nightmares about that night. She’d been forced to permanently quit her volunteering at the suicide prevention hotline because she’d kept on getting flashbacks.

Oliver had been admitted into the hospital by the police, originally just for two days in order for a mental assessment and treatment of his self-inflicted wounds. In the end, her husband had been sectioned for two months voluntarily. He’d received the medical help and therapy he needed, placed on better medication. Those two months had been incredibly rough for Felicity, and not just because she was emotionally distraught and traumatized after seeing her husband try and shoot himself. The doctors had gently advised that it might be better for Felicity to maintain a distance from Oliver while he was sectioned, which was incredibly difficult considering she knew he was suffering and desperately wanted to help him. The especially hard part of it all was that she’d been the one who had to inform Oliver’s parents and sister about his attempted suicide and subsequent sectioning.

Felicity could still vividly remember her feelings of guilt and shame as Moira collapsed into a sobbing heap, a horrified expression crossed Robert’s face and Thea burst into tears, running out of the room.

Upon being released, Oliver had immediately quit his job upon the advice of his therapist. Robert and Moira had been very upset about this to start with, but when the HR department received a letter of resignation paired with a doctor’s letter, detailing out how the job at QC was adding to Oliver’s severe depression, they shut up and accepted it. Due to having no day job to attend, her husband became a bit of a hermit. Which was precisely what the doctors had informed him not to do. He’d hardly done anything apart from sit around their apartment, reading and writing in his therapy notebook as he attempted to occupy himself each day, waiting for each therapy appointment to arrive.

Her husband being at home all the time did lead to one good thing - he and Felicity were able to work on rekindling their relationship and start to fix their marriage. She took days off work to spend time with him. More often than not, they just sat next to each other on the couch and watched TV, or completed puzzles on the floor, or played board games (because Oliver’s therapist said that puzzles and games would stimulate his mind, help him get back into the swing of logical thinking under pressure). But things had got better between them. Felicity had noticed that Oliver was initiating contact more frequently, brushing his hand against her shoulder or arm. He’d even began to let Felicity hold him at night while they slept.

Considering that on the day she’d picked him up from the psychiatric facility, he’d flat out admitted he expected her to greet him with divorce papers in hand, they’d made massive progress, as Oliver seemed to trust her again. He talked to her - spoke to her about his feelings, as uncomfortable as it made him, and occasionally made her when he confessed he was having suicidal thoughts. At least he was communicating with her, though. Felicity would rather she hear about his most disturbing depressed thoughts than have him completely shut her out.

Around a month ago, once they felt their emotional connection had completely reformed, Oliver had quietly and hesitantly requested they attempt a more physical way of showing their feelings for each other. They’d had sex for the first time in… god, around a year.

They’d both cried afterward. Felicity wasn’t ashamed to admit that the passion and heat and loving energy they’d felt between them had been overwhelming. It had been the first time she’d been able to appreciate her husband’s body, and feel appreciated by him physically, in a long time. The fact that their sex was not out of lust, but out of revived love for each other, just solidified in Felicity’s mind that she and Oliver were forever. They could get through all the hardships they were presented with, as long as they remained united.

“You look tired,” Oliver said softly, starting Felicity out of her musings.

“Thanks,” she huffed, adding a teasing lilt to her voice.

Her husband didn’t seem to catch onto it. Looking down at his notebook and withdrawing into himself, he murmured, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“It’s okay, Oliver,” she reassured. “You’re right. I _do_ look tired. I’m exhausted, actually.”

“Can’t shake that illness?”

“No,” she sighed. She’d been throwing up occasionally for no apparent reason over the last two weeks, getting headaches and sometimes feeling faint. She knew now why she’d been feeling so sick… but that was a conversation for later. Walking over to him slowly, she slid down the wall so she could sit beside him. He didn’t pull away from her, so Felicity risked leaning against him, resting her head on his shoulder. “How was therapy today?”

“Good,” he responded, flicking through his notebook.

Felicity tried to sneak a finger sideways so she could push down the edge of the page and glance at it, but Oliver shot her a shuttered, pained look and snapped it shut before she could touch it. “Have you got homework?”

He frowned. “Yeah.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“Not today,” he shook his head. “Sorry.”

“You know you can ask me for help if you need or want it, right?”

He nodded. “I know.”

“Okay.”

If Oliver knew that the option of reaching out for help from her was open, then there was really nothing else Felicity could do. She wasn’t going to force her husband to tell her about his therapy session or about his homework if he didn’t want to. She needed to respect his boundaries while supporting him as much as possible.

Turning his head slightly towards her, but being careful not to jostle her head on his shoulder, Oliver questioned, “How was work today?”

“I went to the doctor’s this morning about my illness and this afternoon… your sister came to visit me,” she informed him.

Oliver froze. For a moment he didn’t speak. Felicity let him take a minute or so to process that information. Her husband hadn’t seen his parents or sister since about a week before his suicide attempt. That was no fault of his own, however - the Queen family had made no attempt to see Oliver in the last year, despite having opportunities too. They’d even missed his birthday. As far as Felicity was concerned, the Queens had stopped caring about her husband the moment he’d quit working at their family company.

“What did she say?” Oliver finally asked.

It was horrible how cautious he sounded, as if he was scared of what she might tell him. “She invited us to dinner with your parents next Saturday.”

“What did _you_ say?”

“That I would ask you and you would make the final decision. Which you don’t have to make now,” she added quickly. “I know you might want to speak to your therapist about this before you decide whether to agree or not. I told Thea it might take a couple days to get back to her.”

Oliver fiddled with his notebook and pen nervously, arching his head back so he could look up at the ceiling. “They want me to come back to QC.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Why else would they want to see me?”

“Maybe because your parents miss their son, and your sister misses her brother?” Felicity suggested softly.

“If they missed me, they wouldn’t have waited a year to come and see me,” he muttered, shrugging his shoulders. His movement jolted Felicity’s head from where it was resting and she grimaced as she watched Oliver stagger to his feet, stiff from having sat on the floor for what must have been several hours.

She watched as he took a seat at their dining table. “Can’t we afford to give them the benefit of doubt? They are your family, Oliver. _Our_ family. They might not -”

“Can we not talk about this?” her husband cut her off. The slightly pleading tone of his voice caused Felicity’s jaw to immediately click shut, and she began to gnaw on her lip. “I… I don’t think I can deal with thinking about all of that today.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

He exhaled in relief. “Thank you.”

“But we will talk about this?” Felicity asked, striding over to stand opposite him, on the other side of the table. “Not tonight, but… soon?”

“Soon,” Oliver conceded, although he appeared a little uncomfortable agreeing to it.

The doorbell rang. Felicity cringed when her husband jumped so high in his chair at the unexpected sound that he almost fell out of it. She probably should have warned him earlier that they were expecting a delivery. The wild look in Oliver’s eyes faded into sheepishness when Felicity brushed her fingers over his shoulders comfortingly. Answering the door, she paid the delivery man with a handful of cash and carried the box of Chinese food back into the kitchen.

“Can you grab plates and cutlery?” she requested, glancing back at Oliver.

Her husband blinked at her, puzzled. “You ordered food?”

“Chinese.”

Oliver just appeared even more confused. “Chinese? But we… it’s not a special occasion. We only ever get Chinese when it’s a special occasion.”

“I’m aware of that, yes,” Felicity said calmly, unpacking the containers. “Plates and cutlery, please.”

“Felicity.” She paused and turned to face him. Oliver hadn’t moved from where he was sitting, and was regarding her with a bemused and wary expression as he laced his fingers together on the tabletop anxiously. “What’s going on? Why have you ordered Chinese food? It’s not a special occasion… I mean, considering what day it is, it’s anything _but_ a special occasion.”

Sighing, Felicity abandoned the containers on the counter and slid onto the chair next to her husband at the table. She slipped her hand into his, lacing their fingers together and giving them a light squeeze. “I know,” she said. “I know it seems ridiculous to be sort of, you know, _celebrating_ what day it is today, but… it’s been a year, Oliver. You survived your suicide attempt and it’s been a _year_ since, and not only have you never tried again, but you’ve taken action to actually improve your mental health. You’re on Zoloft and you’re seeing a therapist.” Bending down a little so she could get a proper view of his face, she questioned softly, “Don’t you think that’s something to be happy about?”

“I guess,” Oliver whispered, turning to press a tender kiss on her forehead. Felicity’s heart instantly felt warmed and she smiled at him. “To be honest, I’m more happy that we didn’t get divorced and managed to salvage our relationship. That’s what’s important to me.”

“We should serve the food,” Felicity replied, because she was on the verge of crying from sheer elation. She was so, _so_ relieved that Oliver was here with her today and that he was _happy_ about it. A year ago, her husband had been shrouded in darkness from his depression and had felt as if there was nothing left he could do to make himself happy except kill himself. Now, he was content in their relationship, healing emotionally and starting to enjoy life again.

They ate their Chinese in comfortable silence that was occasionally broken by both of them asking questions about how things had gone for them this week. Oliver opened up to Felicity about how at therapy he’d made a breakthrough concerning what job he would actually like to go into, now he was free from being bullied into a position at QC. He’d discovered that he would like to use the skills he’d learned in the special forces to run self-defence and emergency survival classes. The idea of aiding people in becoming less helpless, more independent and surer of their own personal security was one that satisfied and pleased him. Felicity was delighted; they had a lot of savings from over the years, so could easily set up a small business and rent a little studio at the edge of the Glades for Oliver to use for classes. He said he would bring the idea up with his therapist in their next session.

“I have a present for you,” Felicity told him, once they’d finished eating and she was clearing their plates from the table.

“A present?” he repeated. He remained seated when Felicity motioned him too, his leg bouncing up and down nervously. “What kind of present?”

Inhaling slowly, Felicity walked over and picked out the small box she’d wrapped in gold paper earlier that afternoon from her bag. She held it in her hands for a moment, biting her lip as she internally debated whether or not tonight was the right time to do this. In the end, she decided that it was now or never. She didn’t know how Oliver was going to react, but she was practically buzzing with excitement as she strode back over to him, placing the box in front of him.

Oliver stared at it with a suspicious look on his face. “Okay…”

“It’s not going to bite you,” she reassured. She poked it and then shook it gently. “See?”

Nodding, her husband pulled the box towards him and began tearing the wrapping paper. Felicity had to quickly sit down due to the wave of dizziness due to anxiety that swept over her. She observed her husband’s reactions carefully as he opened up the box and peered inside.

Oliver said nothing for a moment, just gazing down at the box’s contents.

Felicity held her breath.

“How many weeks along are you?” he asked, his voice choked.

“Five weeks,” she murmured, raising her closed fist to cover her mouth worriedly.

He nodded. One by one, Oliver lifted out each pregnancy test from the box until he’d lined all six of them onto the table in front of him. All of them indicated a positive result. “What made you suspect you should…?”

Felicity reached into the box and fished out the folded up piece of paper in there.

“‘Dear Mrs Smoak, we regret to inform you that our pharmacy’s last two months worth of Microgynon birth control shipments were discovered to have been tampered with. Unfortunately this means that your Microgynon prescription that was most recently issued to you will not offer you effective birth control’,” Oliver read. He put the letter down on the table and it did not get past Felicity that his fingers were trembling. “You went to the doctor this morning.”

“The letter came last week just after I started getting ill… I took the tests three days ago,” she explained softly. “I called my doctor and explained… they already know our situation so managed to rearrange things to get me an appointment this morning. They did a blood test.”

“And the result was…?”

“Positive.”

Oliver took a shaky breath. “You’re pregnant.”

“Yeah.” Felicity scrutinized him, frowning. “You… don’t seem very surprised.”

Scratching the back of his neck, her husband grabbed his therapy notebook, opening it to the most recently written page and passed it over to her. He hid his face in his hands as she glanced down at it.

_Reasons why I wouldn’t be a shitty father and wouldn’t need to freak out about having a baby_ was the title.

“ _You_ suspected?” Felicity said in disbelief.

“You’ve been showing all the classic pregnancy symptoms,” he groaned through his fingers

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was scared,” Oliver admitted. “About the prospect of us having a baby, having to care for a child together when I’m just so… _damaged_. And after what happened with the last one…” he trailed off, swallowing.

A lump formed in Felicity’s throat and she desperately tried to hold back tears. They didn’t talk about that. They never truly had. She didn’t even really like to think about it. She’d shoved those traumatic memories to the back of her mind in the hope that the feelings of utter guilt and horror that accompanied them would gradually lessen.

A year into their marriage, around four years ago now, Felicity had found out she was pregnant. They’d they’d both been so happy about it. But she’d miscarried around six weeks in. Oliver and Felicity had both been devastated and stopped trying for a baby. It was probably what had started the break down of their relationship. Because they’d never spoken about it or discussed what had happened and their feelings around it, they’d began drifting apart bit by bit. Then Oliver had got his job at QC and things had gone downhill from there.

“I know,” she whispered. “I’m scared too. But the doctor said they’re going to do genetic testing and keep an eye on everything. We’re going to be fine this time.”

“You can’t know that for sure.”

“No, you’re right. I can’t. But I can _hope_ we’re going to be fine. It’s better to be optimistic about these things, Oliver. The doctor said that just because I miscarried before, doesn’t mean I’ll miscarry again.”

He dropped his hands from his face after rubbing his eyes, which were now a little red-rimmed. Oliver was schooling his expression, keeping it blank so Felicity couldn’t read his emotions, which was rather unsettling.

“You need to talk to me,” she said. “Please, Oliver. I need to know what you’re thinking and feeling about this.”

“I’m happy,” he croaked.

A grin split her face. “Yeah?”

“But I’m also terrified.”

“I mean, _same_ ,” she laughed.

“This is definitely something I’ll need to speak to my therapist about more.”

“You’re going to have a _lot_ of topics to talk about next session.” Felicity yanked the box over to her. “You’re missing the best part of the present, by the way.” The little envelope was caught in the cardboard fold at the bottom of the box, which was why Oliver hadn’t noticed it. Tugging it out, she handed it over to her husband.

He tore the envelope open hastily and Felicity was ecstatic to see eagerness dancing in his eyes. “Oh my god,” he muttered, tone hushed as he stared at the numerous sonogram photos that had spilled out onto his lap. “You had a scan this morning?”

Scooting her chair closer to him, she started pointing out various things. “The gestational sac is that black area there, and you see that small white circle in the upper left of the sac? That’s the yolk sac. Everything is fully formed and seems alright. Actually, the doctor said everything is perfect.” Smiling as she remembered, she added quietly, “I heard the baby’s heartbeat, Oliver. It was amazing. It was around 70 beats per minute which is normal.”

“Can I come to the next scan?” he whispered.

“Of course.”

“Can I keep these?” he asked, waving one of the photos.

“Yeah, I’ve already got my share of them.”

Oliver shook his head, still mesmerized by the sonograms. “I can’t believe this,” he murmured. “A year ago today I was trying to shoot myself… and now I’ve just found out I’m going to be a dad.”

“Funny how things turn out, huh?” she smiled, hugging his arm and propping her chin on his shoulder. “Well… not funny. There’s nothing funny about your suicide attempt. It’s just, you know… a year ago you felt as if you didn’t have anything to live for. Now you do.” She tapped the photos. “You have this little nugget to live for.”

“I love you.” He turned around and wrapped his arms around her in a tight, warm embrace. “Thank you. For everything. For helping me get through this year… for giving me something to live for again in the form of you and this baby. I’m not going to lie, I’m pretty terrified about this whole thing but I’m excited as well.”

She hugged him back, murmuring, “Thank you for deciding that it was worth staying alive and getting healthy. I know you still have a long way to go but I’m so, _so_ proud of you for all the progress you’ve made so far. And I know you’re going to be an incredible dad.”

“You’re going to be an incredible mom.”

“Wanna grab some celebratory ice cream?” she asked.

“One second.” He reached behind her to grab his notebook from where she’d set it down on the table. “Pass me my pen.”

She handed it over.

Oliver opened the notebook to a fresh page and started to write.

_My wife just told me she’s five weeks pregnant. I’m delighted, but also really scared I might not be the best father because I’m mentally ill and still coping with my depression. But I know that despite all of that, I’m going to try my very hardest to be a great parent to this baby. I’ve started to feel like I have my life under control again and I can manage this. And I know with Felicity by my side, anything is possible._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading
> 
> twitter: @lexiblackbriar  
> tumblr: @alexiablackbriar13

**Author's Note:**

> ...
> 
> Tumblr: @alexiablackbriar13  
> Twitter: @lexiblackbriar


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